


Cafe de Flore

by MrsMollyH



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - World War II, Constellations, Drinking, France (Country), Historical References, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Past Abuse, Relationship Discussions, Unsafe Sex, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-20 23:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6029281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsMollyH/pseuds/MrsMollyH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>France 1944. Jared is a new navigator in a unit stationed in Paris before a mission over the French countryside. Jensen is his commanding officer. After leaving his small Texas home for being abused because of his sexuality, Jared swore he would never speak of it again. How can Jared reconcile his feelings for Jensen with the realities of a homophobic Army and a time that doesn't allow feelings like his?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cafe de Flore

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to for her absolutely gorgeous art, which can be found [here](http://phoenix1966.livejournal.com/15107.html). (Seriously, go check it out. I got lucky to be paired with one of the most talented people on the planet.) And thanks as well for the few helpful nudges by [Michelle](http://soullessboyking.tumblr.com). I owe you both for your patience in bringing this to light.

**February**

 

Cafe de Flore is alight with energy. Men and women are dancing, and some are even so brazen as to kiss and touch in the darkened corners, just away from the press of lights along the walls and above the heads of the dancers. Their reverie a hard, bright spot in the dark and dim of the war just outside the doors. Their insistence in loud music and the women in their bright colored dresses, the men in their freshly pressed uniforms, it’s all an act of crazy youth, pushing against the hurt and the loss, the bombs and guns that wait like wolves in the night, taking one or two when no one is looking, dragging them away from the light. Being inside the dancing, the singing, the living makes you feel like maybe this performance, this crazy belief in life can keep out the rolling tanks with their blood red flags. Their fervor makes you want to believe.

The first time Lieutenant Jared Padalecki meets Captain Jensen Ackles is in this small, tucked away bar in Paris in early March 1944. It’s the night before he reports to his unit, and Padalecki, all of 21 and more than filling out his Army uniform that is nearly too small because of his nearly six-and-a-half foot frame, is drinking good beer and enjoying the big band playing when he spots the man across the bar. Just over six feet, with dirty blond hair and greener eyes than he has ever seen, the gentleman, a Captain, has his arm draped lazily over the shoulder of a knockout redhead in a beautiful green wool dress and matching heels. Beautiful as the girl was, Jared can’t keep his eyes off the high cheekbones and sharp jaw of the man cozied up next to her. His eyes shine nearly as brightly as the two bars on his shoulders.

Jared watches him out of the corner of his eyes, watches him laugh as the redhead toys with the lapels of his uniform and smudges the bright shine of the bars on his coat, only to breathe on them and shine them up again. The Captain kisses her on the cheek and Jared's heart breaks a little, but it's nothing new, nothing he hasn’t seen before.

Jared has long worked to hide the way he feels, the fact that he is attracted to men. He had been shamed out of the small Texas town he had called home. He hadn't spoken a word of his proclivities since joining the Army. Not a breath of it during basic training, while training in the bellies of the B-17s that he now knows and loves so well, not even before he shipped out across the vast Atlantic Ocean, not now in the City of Love. Never again.

Jared turns away, faces the bar again and lets the voices of three French women doing their best Andrews Sisters impression wash over him. The song they sing, "Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree" had been a favorite of his little sister’s before he left home. He smiles a bit at the memory, a wistfulness to it, a soft touch of sadness on his heart. 

His sister, along with everyone else he knows and loves, is five thousand miles away. He knows no one here now. Not after having been yanked away once finished with his training after a hurried brush through flight school. Jared touches gently the silver wings on his chest that mark the work he had put in. 

A small thud on the thick wooden bar next to him pulls him from his reverie. An empty Stella Artois is on the table and the Captain he had noticed earlier is next to him, almost close enough to touch. Jared clears his throat, startled, and offers a muffled, “Excuse me,” before going to move.

“Don’t worry, kid. I’m not gonna bite you,” It’s said with a smirk, and Jared is nailed to the floor by the grin he’s offered. “Name’s Jensen. Jensen Ackles.”

Jared smiles, attempting to hide his nerves. “Good to meet you, sir.”

Jensen’s smirk grows. “Don’t worry with the honorifics, kid. I don’t care for them. Jensen’s fine.” He gestures at the bottle on the bar. “Did you hear the brewery was damaged? Got hit by some artillery. Damn shame, cause it means this stuff is gonna be hard to find here soon. And expensive.”

Jared laughs. “My name is Jared, and it’s nice to meet you, too.” The redhead has made her way next to Jensen and is giving Jared a near predatory look.

“Well, ain’t you just a tall drink of water,” she smiles, offering Jared a long gaze from head to toe. Jared feels his cheeks flame with a blush and tries to hide it by taking a sip of his beer.

“Now, Danneel, there is no need to scare the kid. Clearly he is fresh off the boat,” Jensen puts his arm around her shoulders.

“What can I say? I like them naive.” The grin she offers is wolfish. 

“Enough, young lady. I won’t have you terrifying a Lieutenant on his first day on shore. Go find yourself someone else to play with.” Danneel offers an over-exaggerated pout, winks, grabs her freshened drink from the bar and turns on a heel.

“Apologies, Jared, Danneel is a force to be reckoned with,” Jensen offers. 

“I noticed,” Jared returns, “Must be rough having a girlfriend that excitable, huh?” 

Jensen shakes his head, “Danneel is nothing more than a very close friend. I don’t know a single person alive, myself included, who could handle that girl.”

Inside Jared’s heart, a whisper of hope rises, and he has to force it down, kill it before it grows. Just because the man isn't with Danneel—which, to some extent, Jared is not sure he believes—certainly doesn't mean he feels the same things Jared does. Jared knows his sin, knows his shame. He learned from one too many close calls where he was beaten and left to bleed. The ache never goes away, but heartache is easier to heal than a broken cheekbone.

“What about you?” Jensen muses, “You got a lady waiting at home?”

Jared laughs, shakes his head. “No one. I’m in all of this on my own.”

Jensen cocks his head a bit, and nods in quiet acceptance. He signals the bartender, a petite brunette with doe-like brown eyes, for another beer and nods toward Jared’s.

“Oh, you don’t have to—“ Jared begins,

“Please, it’s nothing. Someone needs to enjoy the beer before it’s too expensive.” Jensen winks at him. “It was good meeting you Lieutenant Padalecki. Be safe out there.”

Jensen turns to leave, and Jared is left with a cold Stella Artois and the memory of Jensen’s smile: all straight white teeth and soft creases at the corner of his eyes. His heart feels as if it weighs as much as the planes he knows so well.

The next morning, Jared is dressed in PTs and only a little the worse for wear when he leaves the barracks at 0500 sharp, ensuring he will report on time for his first day of duty. He makes his way to the large open field where PT is held, jogging lightly to warm himself up in the brisk March morning. Most of his fellow soldiers have already arrived and are stretching or doing jumping jacks to prepare for the inevitable run they will endure. 

“I hear Cap’ is gonna run us 10 miles today,” Jared overhears, and he turns his head to the speaker, a tall blond whose hair is just a bit too long to really be in regulation.

“Is he really?” Jared chimes in. The man who was speaking turns to him and smiles.

“The man loves to run,” he says.

“No, idiot child, he doesn’t like to run. It hurts his damn bowlegs. But he likes making us run, so he just deals with it.” The responding tone is too playful to be truly mean, and the guy who cut blondie off is slightly shorter, and has light brown hair and a pair of startling blue eyes. The younger blond rolls his eyes with derision, and turns to Jared.

“You must be the new guy, Pada—something I can’t fuckin’ pronounce. I’m Chad,” he thrusts a hand toward Jared, who shakes it.

“It’s Padalecki, but you can call me Jared.”

“And this,” Chad gestures with a hard point of his finger, “Is Captain Christian Kane, asshole at large.”

It’s that simple now; battle buddies are born with a handshake and a little bit of wit, and a whole lot of hope that they would come out of it all alive, sane, and in one piece.

“Good morning, gentleman!” A deep voice booms across the field.

“Speak of the devil,” Chad mutters, standing at attention. Chris and Jared do the same.

Jared nearly hits the deck when he realizes that “Cap’” is none other than Captain Jensen Ackles, the man who bought him the Stella Artois the night before. He clears his throat in a hard cough to hide the startled sound that escapes his throat.

“Today you are going to run. And you will run until I tell you to stop. Am I clear?” Ackles raises an eyebrow and waits. Wisely, no one mouths off. “Let’s go.”

They run. They run until most of the men have fallen out or are wheezing. They run until Chad finally gives up and starts walking, until Chris is doggedly puffing away, losing speed with every passing step. 

Jared doesn’t flag. 

In high school, though he was quietly bookish and outwardly bullied for his affections, Jared would come home and study, eat with his parents, and then once they were asleep, he would leave their small Texas home and run.

In a pair of hand-me-down white gym shoes, Jared would run over the grasses of his neighbors’ homes, he would run past the shaded windows of the ice houses and the general store Mr. Beaver owned, he would run past the cows the Morgan family kept, glancing at their sleeping farmhouse as he raced past it, the structure a white blur in the night.

He would run until his lungs ached and his sides hurt, till his legs could pump no more. He ran to escape the teasing, he ran to escape the spit flung in his face. He ran because he thought maybe if he ran fast enough he could escape the way he felt about the men around him. So he logged mile after mile, the hard flat slap of his feet a metronome for his teenage years. 

So when Captain Ackles turns them back to the field he had lead them from over an hour before, Jared is winded, but he had never slowed.

As Jensen begins stretching, Jared has the opportunity to realize that the Captain’s legs are in fact, rather bowlegged. His back is broad and muscular, and his hair shines like chaff in the French sun.

“You must be the new recruit,” Jensen chuffs in Jared’s direction, not lifting his gaze from the ground as he leans this way and that, releasing the tension in his legs after 9 long miles.

“Yes, sir,” Jared responds.

“Did you enjoy the Stella Artois?”

Jared pauses, swallows hard, not realizing the commanding officer had recognized him. “Very much sir, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. You don’t see many Padaleckis in the area and I received your in-processing papers yesterday morning before Danneel and I made it to Cafe de Flore. Consider it a gesture of good faith, kid. Did you run in high school? Track or something? One of the only ones that kept up on the nine miler.”

Jared thinks back to his high school days, where running meant freedom done under the cover of night. He was never running to win, only running to get by.

“No sir. Not much of an athlete back home.”

“Could have fooled me. Kept up like you’d been doing it for a while. You’re free to go, if you need anything, let me know. I’ll be in battalion all day.” Jensen offers him a brilliant smile, and Jared feels something break free in his chest, some old ache he thought he had buried.

“Thank you, Captain Ackles,” he nods, turning on his heel and heading for the barracks.

“Oh, and Lieutenant Padalecki?” Jared turns at his name.

“What was the weather like when you left Fort Sam Houston? I’m from Richardson, and I haven’t been home in a little over a year.

Jared smiles, revealing his dimples and his straight white teeth.

“It was cold—for Texas at least. But summer had been brutally hot, just as I’m sure you remember.” 

Jensen smiles. “Thank you, Lieutenant. You can go now.” Jared does, head down, but with a smile on his face. He had not thought fondly of home in quite a while.

**March**

Over the course of the next month, Jared does his best to throw himself into the train-up for their next mission. He and Chad grow closer, and all the while, Chris does an immense amount of head shaking and sighing. 

Jared spends most of his days getting in and out of the B-17s they will be using over Givors, learning them inside and out. His spine grows accustomed to the steel of their bellies digging in, and his hands practice their moves over the dials he must know by heart. Day by day, Jared does his own drills to become more accustomed, and day by day he grows more confident in the planes. Flight school was recent, but not complete enough—they needed men overseas and they needed them there fast. 

Jared spends his nights reviewing the manuals that have been handed down from other navigators, some blood-stained, others marred with oil-slicked fingerprints, none ever new, none his for too long. In this war, learning was a luxury, and time was not.

Barely a week before Saint Patrick’s Day, Chad manages to narrowly avoid an Article-15 for his part in a rather elaborate latrine-related prank, due entirely to Jared’s and Chris’s generous and sober-faced testimonies filled with half-truths on his behalf in front of command. Jared notices Captain Ackles doing his best to keep from laughing through the whole ordeal, though the smirk cannot be wiped from his face. Chad does, however, lose his mid-month’s pay, meaning he is begging rations off his two friends like a madman because he cannot manage his money well enough to have anything in savings.

A few days after the ordeal is over, one bright morning Captain Ackles calls Jared into his office, where he sits behind a very small desk that was clearly moved out of a home that had been damaged during the war.

“That was kind of you, Jared,” Ackles says in a low tone.

“What, sir?” at that, Jensen smirks.

“Don’t bother with the ‘sir,’ Jared; you can call me Jensen when it’s just you and me. I never got too hung up on titles, myself. My father, however, practically wanted me to call him Colonel growing up.” Jensen sighs, eyes going momentarily dark. “You put your ass on the line for your friend out there. We both know all three of you could have been court martialed and the UCMJ doesn’t look too fondly on lying to your commanding officers. Lieutenant Murray owes you.”

Jared goes pink in the cheeks and drops his glance to the floor. He never had been much of a liar, and it had been the main reason he had so much difficulty with his sexuality back in Texas. Out of regard for his career, he mutters, “Uh, no sir, Lieutenant Murray did not misappropriate government property in an incident in the Bravo Company barracks latrine—“

“Oh, don’t bother with it, Padalecki. I think the whole incident is god damned hilarious. I’m just saying you’re a good guy. I hope you know that deep down." Jensen pauses. "You’re a hard man to read.”

Jared wishes at that moment that he could tell Jensen everything. How hard it was growing up in the conservative South. How his friends abandoned him when the rumors first got out. How it sounded when his eye socket had endured a blow so hard he ended up with a hairline fracture.

But he doesn’t. Can’t. Certainly Jensen would react the same way as everyone else had. Even with the light touches and the glances during safety briefs, Jared knows that this would end up just as it had with the boy he had fallen in love with in high school. 

“Join me for drinks. Danneel and I are going out tonight. It’s been too long and she won’t stop pestering me.” He pauses, then adds, “And they have a new case of Stella Artois in special.”

Jared wants to go. His blood pulses with it so hard he can barely breathe, but he knows he can’t. It would be showing his hand—baring a weakness he cannot afford to bare.

“I can’t, sir.” And this time he insists on the title, “I drew CQ tonight.”

They both know it can be rearranged, and that Jared had taken Chad’s guard so that Chad could go out that night, that it’s not actually his shift to endure, but neither says anything of it.

“No problem,” Jensen demurs. “Get to it, then, Lieutenant.”

Jared takes his leave and returns to the company desk, relieving Chad so that he can go out and celebrate. CQ duty is long, boring, and debilitatingly slow, and morning is just the beginning of a twenty-four hour shift.

The day goes smoothly enough, as he helps anyone coming into the company office, offering directions, answering the phones, correcting the odd enlisted that walk in and don’t know their ass from third base. Chad comes in and checks on him after lunch at the DFAC, paid for by a handful of change begged off and given kindly, but not without reproach, by Chris. Jared shoos him away, tells him to go make bad decisions as quickly as possible.

But as the hours tick closer and closer to the evening, Jared’s mind wanders over and over again to Captain Ackles. Jared watches as the sun sets out the small battalion windows, covered only in thin paper-style blinds that he has never liked and that were never effective. Battalion will be closed to most traffic, and the phones will go more or less silent unless something truly terrible happens—war-related or soldier misadventure, both cause trouble enough.

The time rides slowly across the face of the clock, ticking softly over the hush of the empty building. Jared makes his way to the locker he kept behind the office and pulls his copy of _Reflections in a Golden Eye_ out. He returns with the small novel in his hands, almost so small he can hide the whole cover with his large hands. He is grateful to have the distraction to make time pass more quickly.

The book had been given to him by his English teacher as a graduation gift. She had said nothing, but handed it to him and told him to be safe in the service, and told him if he ever needed anything, to let her know. 

As he reads over the pages of Major Weldon Penderton lusting over Private Williams, Jared finds his mind returning to Captain Ackles time and again. The curve of his legs as he runs, the hard, broad flat of his back, the dust of the lashes over his eyes that curl when he laughs.

Jared’s hand is fisted in the fabric his uniform pants, sweat bunching the wool. He glances at the clock, and, seeing as that it’s ten at night, makes a knee-jerk decision that’s more related to the current situation in his uniform pants than anything rational.

Jared makes his way to the battalion latrine and locks the door behind him, breathing short, tense breaths. He’s already hard in his pants, and he draws his cock into his hand, eyes shutting tight against the light and mirror. In his head, he sees Jensen’s full lips curled around his dick, tongue working over the tip and dipping, dropping to take the length into his mouth. In his mind, Jensen is everything he has ever wanted, everything he does want. In his head there are no stereotypes to live up to, no one waiting behind buildings to grab him and beat him while calling him words he has only flung at himself out of hate.

In his mind, he and Jensen fit together, and he can visualize Jensen wrapping his hand around their cocks and stroking, stripping the lengths together. Jared mimics the motion he can only fantasize about, brushes the base of his palm from the base of his shaft all the way up to the tip of his cock. The images are so intense that suddenly he feels the rush when he comes hard in his hand, a hard, taut grunt all the sound that comes from his lips.

When his vision returns, Jared quickly cleans himself up and refreshes his uniform, making sure all is in its correct place before turning off the light in the bathroom. Before he opens the door, he shuts his eyes, presses his hand to the wood of the door and sighs, a short, bitter sound. This is how he will live the rest of his life. Lying his way through his days and living his nights with nothing but loneliness and fantasy.

He unlocks the door, and slips out quietly, shutting it behind him and leaving it as he left it. He returns to the CQ desk and picks up his book, reading well into the night as the minute hand makes its way slowly across the face of the clock, night growing darker and darker. 

The next morning, Chad relieves him and Jared, having already hidden _Reflections in a Golden Eye_ in his locker, returns to the barracks and falls asleep on his convalescence, turning his back to the risen sun and hoping to drown it away, thinking of how much Captain Ackles must have enjoyed his night at Cafe de Flore without him.

**April**

Over the course of the next three weeks, Jared is quiet, edging on sullen. He arrives for PT ten minutes prior to formation, as he must, and he leaves when released. He does not volunteer for extra duty. He avoids battalion, only entering the building when he is required. 

Jared’s shoulders round more each day, like he wishes his frame were smaller. His head bows. Inside he is an ocean of frustration and hurt. He knows that if he spends any more than the smallest amount of time in battalion, he will make a mistake he deeply regrets. He cannot admit his true feelings to Captain Ackles and he can’t tell even the two men he considers battle buddies. It weighs on him, eats at him. It keeps him from sleep and turns him off his food. His body begins to slim, the wide set of his shoulders grows narrower. There are bags under his eyes that grow and darken with each passing day.

Chad and Chris rib him for it, as friends are wont to do, but they can tell Jared has changed. Chad doesn’t know how to actually talk to him about it and Chris is wise enough not to try.

On the many nights when sleep evades him, Jared sneaks out of the darkened barracks and runs, runs like he did in high school, runs until his lungs burn and the hard flat slap of his feet grows numb. Then, when the sun is near to rising, he returns to the barracks to catch the few short winks of sleep that remain before he has to get up and do PT.

This continues for twenty days until Captain Ackles corners him before he can get out of battalion.

“Lt. Padalecki, I need to speak with you in my office, please.” The tone is firm, but not unkind. Jared nods his head, turns on his heel and follows his commander into his office, shutting the door behind him and standing at parade rest.

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on, Lieutenant?”

Jared’s jaw goes tight, startled and dismayed. “Sir?” The question is a defense mechanism.

“You’ve been avoiding this building, you have been avoiding your soldiers, and, unfortunately, you have been avoiding me. I’m your commander, Lieutenant. It’s my job to know when something is not right. You look like you never sleep lately.”

Jared shifts his weight from boot to boot, eyes glancing down as he does so.

“It’s nothing, Captain. I will get myself squared away.” Jensen offers a hard grunt of noise, a pointed scoff.

“Fuck squaring yourself away, Jared. You haven’t been able to lately. You have to talk about whatever this is. I cannot allow one of my soldiers to have this sort of difficulty one month before we forward deploy.”

Jared squeezes his eyes shut and sighs, drops his head. After a deep breath, he looks at Jensen and says, softly, “I am not at liberty to discuss it, sir. I’m sorry. I can’t.”

Leaning back in his chair, Jensen crosses his arms over his chest and studies the young Lieutenant in silence. After a moment, he sits upright and claps his hands on top of his desk.

“Come with me to Cafe de Flore tonight. Please. Their last shipment of Stella Artois arrived, and I would like it one more time before everything goes south.”

Jared’s lips go tight.

“Don’t make me turn that into an order, Lieutenant.” It’s said with no malice, and Jared smirks, to his own dismay, at that and nods in assent. Jensen claps his hands and rubs them together with a near-maniacal joy.

“Meet me at the front of the motor pool tonight at 2030. Don’t worry about a thing.” Jared turns and leaves the office, shoving his hands in his pockets. He turns his head toward the breeze that comes in over the French countryside and sighs. He thinks of how excited he wishes he could be, and he thinks of how lovely Danneel will look on Jensen’s arm tonight. Finally he thinks about how much Jensen thinks he his helping, and how much it breaks his heart.

Clad in his dress uniform, Jared arrives at the motor pool at 2025 that evening, guarding against the evening chill that runs over his cheeks and through his hair. Jensen is already there, turned mostly away from Jared, resplendent in his uniform, the early April breeze ruffling his dirty blond hair. 

Jared pauses, breathes hard, and tries to ignore the crush in his chest, the dull ache that he has grown to know like an old friend over the course of his life. In front of him is the one man he has ever felt this strongly for, and the one person who can never, ever know the way he feels. Allowing himself only a moment of sadness, Jared adjusts his lapels and ensures his uniform sits according to regulation, and then makes his way over to Jensen, gently putting his hand on his shoulder to let him know he had arrived.

“Jared! I’m so glad you made it,” Jared chastens himself for thinking that Jensen’s green eyes lit up when he arrived. 

“Wouldn’t have missed it, Captain,” He allows himself a smile toward Jensen, which is heartily returned. Captain Ackles puts his hand on his shoulder and tells him he looks great. Jared feels a blush creep up the back of his necks and flush his cheeks, but manages to huff out words of gratitude.

“I have been looking forward to tonight for a while. Genevieve Cortese is the supply manager-cum-bartender at Cafe La Flore—very progressive here, you know—and she is one of the most headstrong women I have ever met. She promised me she would hide me a crate of Stella Artois for before we left on the mission over Givors.”

Jared smirks. “Of course she did; I can only assume you did what it took to persuade her.”

Jensen shakes his head, “Nothing of the sort. She insisted. Apparently she and Danneel are. . . much closer than one would have initially thought.” He says it with a raise of the brow. 

“You mean Danneel. . . likes women?” Jared says it softly, like a small, precious revelation. Jensen throws his head back with a laugh. 

“Were it only so simple! That girl loves both men and women, but I suppose, yes, she does prefer the fairer sex. Enough about that, Jared, let’s go.” Jared falls in line behind Jensen, momentarily stunned by the new information. Jensen had not even blinked an eye over Danneel and Genevieve’s proclivities. There seemed no judgment, no anger, and certainly no distaste. 

Jensen arrived at one of the newer Jeeps that had been shipped over from the states.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” He says, his arms stretched out, gesturing to the vehicle. While “beautiful” might not be the word Jared first thought of, the wide grin on Jensen’s face convinces him otherwise. The Jeep is small, two seats, olive green and matte, but it speaks to freedom. Someone has even hand-painted COL. ACKLES in black on the driver’s side window in small stencil.

“Get in, I’ll show you what she can do.”

And with that, Jared and Jensen are off, hair blowing in the wind as they make their way off post and into the City of Love, rolling over cobblestones and startling young couples out of the streets with their speed. The sun was down and the moon was nearing full, and it shown bright on Jensen’s smiling face as he made his way over the stones on the street. Jared feels a little something within him give way, a small loosening of the incredible fear he had gotten so used to hiding.

There is music and love everywhere, down one alley at a stop sign, Jared glimpses a small slip of a woman wrapped in the arms of a sailor, their faces pressed together with the desperation of war and the fear of being caught. As they fly down the street, Jared catches breaths here and there of big band, the high shout of the brass and the low murmur of the strings all blending together.

Jensen lets out a whoop as they take a turn just a bit too fast and Jared grabs for the door to steady himself and doesn’t realize until too late that his unsteady hand is on Jensen’s forearm, gripping as Jensen changes gears.

As soon as the Jeep steadies, Jared yanks his hand back like it’s been burned, putting it in his lap and hoping, perhaps praying to a God he had been told would watch him burn, that Jensen hadn’t noticed.

“Surprised you, huh? She’s got plenty of get up and go.” And Jensen does him the disservice of winking at him as they pull into the small parking lot of the Cafe, putting the Jeep in gear as it goes quiet.

“Come on, Jared,” Jensen says softly, eyes alight. “Let’s go have some fun, why don’t we?” Jensen lips his licks. Jared smothers a whimper, looks away quickly and opens his door. He stands, straightening his uniform, glancing down the alley that juts off the back of the parking lot. It’s dark and quiet, funneling the music from Cafe la Flore down to the small shops that are on the opposite street, the sounds ghost over the small apartments that are emptied of their young women because they run to clubs like this to find a man like the ones who have left for them for war. These men are like cards in a deck, kings in their uniforms, meant to be shuffled from city to city, country to country, finding another of their kind to form a pair. Jared shuts his eyes to the cool night for a moment, breathes deeply, then makes his way around the Jeep to follow Jensen into the club.

Cafe de Flore is absolutely packed. It is warm inside from the bodies and the drink, and Jensen has to push his way politely through the crush to make his way to the bar, Jared matching his steps. 

There is a shrill yelp as Genevieve Cortese recognizes Jensen. She is the absolutely tiny, dark-haired and dark-eyed young woman Jared noticed behind the bar the first night they were there. She looks like there is a fire burning under her skin. Her lips are painted ruby and her eyes totally lidded with a dark kohl of some kind, thick and pronounced, something he hasn’t seen much of in Paris. He guesses she has made her way to France by way of Italy, considering her name and her coloring.

“I have been waiting for you, Colonel Ackles! I was afraid I was going to have to give your precious Stella Artois away,” She tisks at him. Her eyes move to Jared, and she smiles.

“You must be Lieutenant Padalecki,” She says, blowing him a kiss on either side of his face, “I have heard so much about you, _tesorino._ " 

“Lovely to meet you, ma’am,” Jared returns, returning her bright smile.

“Jensen, he is much more handsome than you told me!” She crows, turning on her heel to grab them each a beer.

Jensen shakes his head with a laugh, not realizing Jared has gone totally still at his side. 

“Well, there you go, that’s Genevieve for you,” Jensen laughs, and Jared forces himself to laugh in return as his mind races. Was Genevieve joking? Or had he misread Jensen? He does his best to squash the little flame of hope that Genevieve had lit, watching her as she returns with a bottle of Stella in each hand.

“Enjoy, _signori!_ "She shouts, “And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, either.” She tosses Jensen a wink.

“ _Sì signora, grazie bella,_ ” Jensen fires back, turning to face Jared. “Cheers, Jared.” Jensen tilts the neck of his bottle toward Jared, and the taller man touches his bottle to his friend’s.

“Cheers,” he returns, and they both drink.

“I had no idea you spoke Italian, Jensen,” Jared offers, almost chiding. 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, kid,” Jensen laughs, his eyes wrinkling at the corners. “Picked it up the last time I was over here about two years ago before I took over command of this battalion. I’m not fluent, but I picked up enough. Genevieve and her family defected from Italy because they’re ally sympathizers. She has helped me learn more since I met her.” Jensen takes a swig of his beer, then turns to Jared.

“What about you, Jared? What’s something I don’t know about you?”

Jared’s mind stalls, and he can’t think of anything but the fact that he wishes he could blurt out his feelings. He cannot tell the truth, as he cannot risk a fight in a bar this crowded, and he cannot risk his career or his life for some high school-type crush. Jared decides to evade.

“I had almost no friends in high school, I guess. I was too small to join the army at 18, actually,” He barks a laugh, “Hit my growth spurt at 19. Almost joined the Marines, but decided the Army suited better. My dad was pleased. My mother burst into tears when I told her. She had always thought I was going to be the son who went to college. My older brother took off with his high school girlfriend and rarely writes. Broke my heart to leave her, but I knew I had to do something with my life. Needed purpose.” Jared stares into the bottle of beer, then flushes. “Sorry, you didn’t need to know all that.”

“Sure I did, Jared. You’re more than just one of my soldiers.” Jensen pauses, decides not to say more, and Jared knows better than to push the issue. “Come on, I’ve heard good things about this band. They brought in some extra talent tonight.”

Jensen and Jared push through the crush of young bodies to make their way closer to the stage where the big band was performing. Jared can smell the perfume on the young women, a small luxury in a time where luxuries are few and far between. The men have spent their money on oils for their hair, in hopes of making themselves stand out in the sea of allied men who fill the streets before the missions they undertake.

They are close enough to the stage to be out of the way of the couples dancing, but to be able to hear the music clearly without too much interruption. Jensen’s shoulders move with the music and he has a smile on his face. 

Jared crosses his arms and watches Jensen. While he enjoys the music, he doesn’t need to watch the performance. He is happy to watch the light strike the planes of Jensen’s face, the curve of his smile and the soft crinkle at the corner of his eye.

Jared wraps his hands around his bottle and twists his hands nervously. He had expected Danneel to be here tonight, he had expected to watch from the sidelines as she and Jensen enjoyed their evening or clumsily tried to pair him up with a pretty young woman. But he had learned about Danneel and Genevieve, he had learned that Jensen had spoken about him at least once. He had no idea which way was up anymore.

He lifts his bottle to Jensen, indicating his is empty. Jensen nods his head, and Jared heads to the bar to get another. He hopes the reprieve will allow him to clear his head. He realizes, though, when Genevieve beckons him to her end of the bar that he will be earning no such thing.

“ _Caro mio,_ when are you going to admit your feelings to Jensen?” Genevieve pries. Jared’s mouth goes dry, and he clears his throat to protest, until Genevieve waves her hand, stopping him. “Jensen talks about you constantly. And it’s written all over your face. One of you has to do something, or you will regret it for the rest of your lives, however long or short they may be. My brother died in this war, fighting for your cause. I know how quickly things change, Jared. You haven’t learned that yet, but you must.” She levers a Stella Artois from under the bar, where she has stored Jensen’s hidden case, and hands it to Jared, shooing him away with an insistent hand.

Jared is dumbstruck. His hands shake, and his breathing is labored. The weight of Genevieve’s words is massive over him. He turns around and sees Jensen has turned and is looking at him with a slight smile on his face. Jensen makes his way through the crowd toward him, and Jared swallows hard against the startling revelation he has just been given. Jensen moves slowly until they are nearly chest to chest.

“From the look on your face, Genevieve. . . Told you more than I thought she would,” Jensen says in Jared’s ear.

“I had no idea, Jensen,” Jared says, the words nearly bursting from him.

“And how would I ever have said anything to you, Jared? This is military fraternization at the very least, and a felony at home at the worst—more likely a death sentence, considering we’re both from small towns.” Jensen shakes his head, “I haven’t been honest about that since I was in high school.”

Jared’s eyes drop to the floor. “The summer between my junior and senior year, my little sister found me in a ditch by a farm owned by the Morgan family. I had been beaten so badly she barely recognized me. I was in the hospital for a week. I got out of there as soon as I could. I had shamed my family enough.”

Jensen’s eyes go dark. “It’s not fucking shameful, Jared. And you never deserved what they did to you. Don’t you ever think you deserve something like that.” With the last words, he puts his hand on Jared’s cheek and runs the pad of his thumb over the skin there. With only a moment’s hesitation, Jensen tips his head, and presses his lips to Jared’s. Jared whimpers against the touch and leans in, feeling like a wall has come crashing down within him. Jensen pulls away for a moment to breathe and huffs quietly, “Outside.”

Jensen slips his hand in Jared’s and makes his way out the back door of the club, pulling him through the oblivious and otherwise occupied crowd. Jared swears he can hear Genevieve’s triumphant howl over the din of the band and the voices in the air. The door swings shut behind them, quieting the racket.

“Get in the Jeep,” Jensen tells Jared, and the younger man obliges, sliding into the passenger seat. As Jensen starts the vehicle up, Jared looks over and asks, “Where are you taking me?”

“Just wait, you’ll see,” It’s said with a cat-like grin. So Jared obliges, feeling like his fingertips are on fire, like his head is full to bursting. He has never felt so excited or so terrified in his whole life. 

Again, Jensen takes them flying over the narrow cobblestone streets of the city, but this time moving away from downtown. He turns this way and that, down streets and alleys Jared didn’t know existed. They make their way slowly out of the dust and brightness of the city until they are in the outskirts of town, making their way swiftly over rocky ground that’s flattened from travel but not paved. Jensen takes the Jeep up a small hill, and once at the top, he cuts the engine and reaches into the backseat. 

From there he pulls an olive green blanket, clearly pilfered from Supply on their small post. He gets out of the Jeep and beckons Jared to follow him, and he does.

After walking for a few minutes, Jensen makes his way to the edge of a small field and lays the blanket out flat. He lies on it and motions for Jared to join him.

Jensen points at the sky to a small bright star just barely visible above them toward the south. “Do you see that, Jared?” Jared huffs his assent. “The last time that star was that bright was the year I was born, Jared. I am not smart enough to know if it will ever be so bright again, but I wanted to share it with you, in case I never see it again.”

“Don’t say that, Jensen—“

“Jared, don’t be ridiculous. We are soldiers. Our lives are often as short and bright as shooting stars. We live as best we can for the few years we are on this earth. If we get lucky, then so be it. Maybe I will see Pyxis again, and maybe I won’t. But who are we to argue with fate, if we aren’t meant to last?”

Jared swallows his words, and lies next to Jensen in silence, admiring the bright shine of the constellation.

“What if fate brought us here?” Jared offers softly. “What if fate brought us together?” Jared can hear Jensen’s mouth break into a smile.

“Then who are we to deny her that either, Jared?” Jensen responds. Jared turns on his side and looks at Jensen. He leans to press his lips against Jensen’s, and Jensen fists his hand in Jared’s hair, kissing him in earnest, slipping his tongue beyond the press of Jared’s lips, licking into his mouth and consuming him.

Jensen drags his hand down the lapel of Jared’s coat, working at the silver buttons until Jared gets frustrated enough to yank them open on his own. Fingers flying, Jensen does the same to his jacket. They both slip their coats off their shoulders. Jared’s fingers go greedily to Jensen’s belt working the silver buckle open and unbuttoning the buttons there, pressing his nose into the fabric and breathing Jensen in. He smells like soap and sweat, like crisp beer and wool. With a small gasp, Jensen keens, thrusting his hips up and moaning.

“Please Jared,” and it’s the most beautiful thing Jared has ever heard. He yanks on Jensen’s slacks, pulling the olive green wool down and freeing Jensen’s hard length underneath. Jensen presses his lips to the base and savors the scent in the curls there, flicking his tongue to catch a taste. Jensen yelps and grinds his hips upward when he does it, begging again. 

Jared takes Jensen’s length fully into his mouth, lathing over it with his tongue and sucking, wrapping his hand around the base. He moved up and down, hand and mouth working in tandem as Jensen’s head drops back to the blanket and he is reduced to small keens. Jared brushes the last of his thumb against the vein that runs up Jensen’s cock, tracing the line his mouth has left with a small movement. Jensen is rocking his hips in rhythm with Jared, lifting them as Jared moved his lips up, arching down to mimic his moves. Jensen’s words are nearly unintelligible over the groans he is eliciting. 

“Jesus Christ, Jared,” Jensen murmurs, “I wanna be inside you,” The word go straight to Jared’s cock, and he pulls off of Jensen with a soft pop. He has never wanted anything so badly in his whole life.

“ I don’t have anything, to…” Jared trails off, and Jensen sits up and grabs his jacket, rifling around in first one pocket and then the next. After a frantic moment, he pulls a small vial out of his coat pocket, and shows it to Jared. It’s a vial of gun oil that usually goes along on a mission, each soldier carrying one in case their gun needs cleaning and repair. That, too, it seems, Jensen had pilfered from supply. Jensen has an smile on his face. He shrugs, “It was all I could find on short notice.”

Jared makes quick work of his belt and his own olive pants, finally naked in front of Jensen. With a small whistle, Jensen takes Jared in, all seventy-six inches from head to toe.

“Danni was right, you know,” Jensen says, “You really are one tall drink of water,” It’s said with a smirk, only slightly serious. “Turn around for me, Jared, please,” It’s almost a plea.

With no hesitation, Jared does so, on his hands and knees facing away from Jensen. Jensen lays his hand on Jared’s back, stroking across its breadth and sliding it down to the firm muscle of Jared’s ass.

Jared hears the vial of gun oil open with a soft snick, and then there is a slickness at his opening, testing, not pushing. 

“God, Jared, if I had only known,” Jensen says softly, his breath hot on Jared’s skin. With a small measure of pressure, Jensen pushes one finger inside of Jared, and the hot press is like fire to Jared, and it’s a brief pain he had forgotten how much he missed. He presses back, hungry, needing more. 

“Jensen, please,” It’s so soft Jared wonders if the other man even heard it, but Jensen obliges him, pressing a second finger in and scissoring them, moving slowly in and out so Jared can get used to the sensation. Again, Jared pushes himself back against the intrusion, riding their rhythm, his body begging for more of the tight burn. Jensen adds a third, and Jared offers a guttural moan, his back arching and his body more wanton than he had ever felt it.

“Fuck, just do it Jensen,” he finally says through gritted teeth, and Jensen pulls his fingers free, rising to his knees. Jared hears him slick himself and finally—finally—feels the thick hard press of Jensen’s cock. The taller man must keep himself from pushing back too quickly, but he has chased this feeling for so long that he can barely hold back. Inch by devastating inch, Jensen fills him until he can feel Jensen’s hips against his ass.

Finally, Jensen begins to thrust, uneven and slow at first, but finally quickening into a definite rhythm. He claps his hand over the hard curve of Jared’s hips to steady himself.

The scratchy wool of the blanket bites into Jared’s knees and he is sure he will have marks tomorrow. His elbows will be similarly marred, and it is cool beyond what is comfortable, and there is dew on his hands where they reach over the blanket, but it all feels like it is as far away as the constellations Jensen had pointed out to him just minutes ago.

All Jared can focus on is the fullness he feels, and the blinding pleasure that Jensen’s cock gives him when it skates over that most-sensitive area within him. All he can hear is the sound of their bodies coming together and the needy words falling from Jensen’s lips as he thrusts, over and over again. 

It feels like forever that Jared has chased this feeling: this unity, this connection; he has chased this bond, and now he is chasing the pleasure he hadn’t experienced since before he was beaten so badly. Jensen wraps his hand around Jared’s already leaking cock, and strips it as he thrusts, matching the movement.

Jared is already close, and Jensen has only brought him closer to the edge by adding his hands. Arching his back, Jared returns the motion’s of Jensen’s thrusts, forcing him deeper. He’s shaking now, fingers searching for purchase on nothing more than wet grass beyond the wool of the pilfered blanket.

He throws his head back and Jensen drops his head to whisper in his ear, “Jared come for me, please.”

That’s all it takes, Jared’s vision whites out and he groans hard, coming thick and hot in Jensen’s hand. Jensen is not far behind him, thrusting less than half a dozen more times before spilling inside of him.

They both go limp, lying back on the blanket and looking to the sky. Their breathing finally begins to slow, and Jensen placed his head on Jared’s chest.

Jared is quiet for a moment.

“Do you think fate will keep us together until Pyxis brightens again?” Jared asks, hands running through Jensen’s hair. He feels Jensen smile against his skin.

“Let’s not leave it up to fate,” he answers. It’s Jared’s turn to smile.


End file.
